


Thirty Fallen Leaves

by AoedeNymph



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Modern Era, Modern Thedas, Romantic Fluff, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoedeNymph/pseuds/AoedeNymph
Summary: A collection of modern AU, autumny Solavellan one-shots/ drabbles that will inevitably build into an actual fanfic; I will try to write one 'chapter' for each day of November, for a creative outlet& source of writing improvement. Hope you lovelies enjoy!





	1. Prompt#1: First Meeting

The door slid open with a soft jingle, letting a cold gush of air sneak into the warmth of the shop. The scent of coffee filled her lungs; fingertips burning lightly as blood regained its flow, previously strained by the low temperature. The dark Vallaslin contrasted not only with her snow-kissed skin, but with the oblivious brightness of her cheeks, blush alike blooming rosebuds. Hair had fallen out of the intricate braided hairstyle, rebellious strands of white framing her pale face. She exhaled, reaching out to clumsily tuck some stray hairs behind her ear, away from sticking to her worn-off lip-gloss. She struggled with her scarf, turquoise orbs hovering over the countless figures sitting at the tables, talking, laughing, taking pictures. Amongst the sea of people she managed to spot him; the black glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose, eyes focused on the book in his hands, held by long, slim fingers. A brown coat hung on the back of the seat, the elf’s slender yet sculpted frame showing through the beige jumper, worn over a moss-green turtleneck. She stopped for a moment, still holding onto the woollen scarf, halfway pulled off, white lashes halted in place as she stared. The mellow tones of the autumnal playlist seemed to fit all too well; as if he could sense her presence, his eyes shot up from the steaks of paragraphs, keeping his cool demeanour; she found herself giving a small, sheepish grin and an awkward wave, to which she received a warm smile in return, inviting her to take the empty seat opposite of him.

  
Evening chatter blended in with the music as Arte’mys’ olive jacket slid off, soon enough landing on the wooden chair after she removed her backpack. She extended a hand, while the other rested on the table, bandaged, revealing small pools of red seeping through the dressing. “I’m—so grateful to finally meet you; Cassandra told me about you” the Dalish stammered, a little too excited for her own good. Hastily, she realized she forgot to present herself. “I am Arte’mys, of clan Lavellan from the Free Marches.” Solas accepted her hand, in a graceful greeting, also bowing his head. His touch was incredibly soft. She shoved that observation right into the darkest pits of her mind. ‘Don’t be weird. He’s just friendly.’ “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.” He seemed so much more lively now , expression softening, engaging her amusedly; before; lost in his reading, he looked much older, even a little troubled, but it had washed away as soon as their gazes met; Arte’mys couldn’t fight the fact that he was, indeed, alarmingly charming. “Yes, Varric informed me that you kept the wound from hurting me in my sleep.” Her chest tightened as she glanced at it, hand balling into a fist; she soon regretted, with a wince, as pain shot through her arm. He watched her closely, but the girl ignored it, continuing to speak earnestly. “I just wanted to thank you. You saved my life.” A melodic chuckle erupted from his throat. Solas shook his head, dismissing the graveness in her voice. “It was no trouble. Luckily, I found you before it was too late.” She exhaled, a bit of relief lacing her release of breath. “Luckily.”

  
After the elven girl had settled in her seat, they both ordered their drinks; to her surprise, she was the one to order raspberry mint tea, while the man had ordered unsweetened black coffee. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, which he took notice of. “I am amusing you.” It was more of a statement than a question. “No, no!” She couldn’t contain a giggle, wagging her hands in front of her. “I was convinced you were a fan of tea.” The other made a face, expressing clear distaste. “Tea? I detest the stuff.” Arte’mys shook her head in disbelief, her laughter intensifying. “No way!” His lips curved upwards; the girl’s glee was as contagious as it was lovely, like the first rays of sun on a cold autumn morning. “Truly.”

  
She glanced outside through the glass, onto the bustling street; she was glad that Solas had picked one of the tables next to the window; droplets of rain splattered across it, running down the surface in rapid threads. Chin propped onto her palm, she leaned closer for a better look, her hot breath splashing in a visible shape of condensation onto the glass. It was so peaceful that she had completely forgotten about the throbbing pain in her palm, even for a few seconds. After taking a sip of her tea, her hands curled around the paper cup on the table, warming herself up with the emanating heat. She faced her company; and was surprised to see that he had been looking at her while her attention had drifted. Understanding her intention of small chat, he offered a casual starter to encourage her. “Well, what can I do for you?” he asked in a playful voice, relaxing into his chair. Although hesitant, she spoke up, fidgeting idly. “I was curious about your opinions on elven culture.” From what she had heard about her rescuer, he was very well-educated, actually having a career as a historian and university professor, aside his extended knowledge of medicine; there were little to no written records about the elves, but she figured he might be more knowledgeable than her; she was also genuinely intrigued, seeing as he was neither a city elf nor did he belong to any known clan. Contrary to her intentions, he had been visibly offended by her inquiry. “I thought you would be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions of elven culture.” His eyes glazed over the markings on her face, inserting a strained pause; it made her uneasy, and a little uncomfortable. “You are Dalish, are you not?” She didn’t want to misunderstand, but the way he said it sounded nothing like how he had acted up to that point; he was being thorny on purpose, and she could tell; she tried to be humorous, albeit forming a slightly daring retort. “What’s your problem with the Dalish? Allergic to Halla?” She risked being a little too casual, but the confidence in her culture urged her to speak out nonetheless. As if a gathering storm had just broken loose into heavy, crashing waves, Solas unleashed an undeserved rant upon her. “They are children acting out stories, misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times!” Arte’mys scowled at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest, backing into her seat defensively. “But _you_ know the truth, right?” The last word was spoken in an audibly higher pitch, indulging in his mockery. “While they pass out stories, mangling details, I revel in knowledge; research. I have seen things they have not.” Although she felt slightly insulted, the frustration and grief in his voice caused her to empathize; perhaps the Dalish had grown too prideful in their legends, preferring to romanticize fantasy in lack of more, and keeping away from valuable historic resources by self-chosen isolation; they were not resting their cause well. She let out a faint grunt, approaching him again, one of her fingers outlining the edge of her cup. At first, her gaze was lowered, but finally, she looked at him again. “Ir abelas, hahren.” The native words rolled straight off her tongue, and Solas was joyed within his heart to hear her speak their language; he was even more delighted to have her call him that; ‘hahren’ – the closest that Dalish clans had to a history teacher. “If the Dalish have caused you a disservice, I would make it right.” She didn’t expect to get into a heated debate, but perhaps he could be as arrogant as he was enticing. In a way, she was thankful to have seen both those sides of him; it made her feel closer to him, in a sense. Solas sighed in reply, admitting to his own transgression. “You are right, of course. The fault is mine. Ir abelas, da’len. If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask.”

  
The altercation seemed meaningless as their conversation progressed; on a friendlier tone, he told her of ancient elves; of the ruins and relics he had seen; of the other Dalish clans, some similar, some so different from her own. He was a good teacher, and she listened intently, childish curiosity sparkling in her doe-like eyes. She rested her head on her arms as he spoke, watching him dreamily; Solas was nothing short of magical when he spoke passionately - almost nostalgically - about everything she asked. “Don’t you get lost in history, sometimes?” she rose from her previous position, trying to discard the state of sleepiness that was enveloping her. Her drink was almost empty, and the sun was a few minutes away from setting. Already, evening had kicked in, dripping over the skies in a pool of blood-orange. She never thought that they would spent this much time together, or that it would be such an enjoyable experience. Solas breathed out a faint laugh as he watched her trying to wake from the drowsiness. The way her make-up lined her eyes bought her pure, white lashes and vibrant eye colour forward; her cheeks were full, adding to her youthful appearance; her nose took the shape of a button, as they called it. She reminded him so much of his sleepy students during lectures; it was very endearing. “Were it not for my travels, I would never find anything new. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of the present to find more of the past.” That spiked her interest, and she placed her chin on top of the back of her hands, propped up onto her elbows. “How so?” When he had found her, she was hunting deep in the woods, north of the city. He had been travelling, and got to watch her acting out her clan duty of retrieving game, before being overwhelmed by two great bears and assaulted by outlaws with poisoned weapons. That was when he met Cassandra and Varric, a Nevarran prosecutor and her presumed ‘prisoner’, a surface dwarf who was allegedly accused for a crime he had not committed. In the course of the attack, the Dalish girl fell unconscious due to the toxins seeping through the injury in her palm. He had stepped in to save her, cared for her for the night, so that the poison would not take her, before venturing out to a hospital the following morning. He had not thought twice about it, nor had it crossed his mind that she would track him down afterwards, to present her gratitude. It took her a full day to wake up, he heard, and she afterwards begged policewoman Pentaghast to help her find Solas. “You train to flick a dagger or an arrow to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit.” He did appreciate the beauty of the hunt, and respectively, the hunters themselves. It was a delicate art, regardless of how barbaric and dangerous it could appear, and the fluidity and dexterity she possessed were indubitable. Arte’mys found herself giggling again, tilting her head back as she laughed. Through his eyes, it painted a beautiful picture. “Oh, I am dreadful with arrows. Back home—“; before she could talk through her giggles, her brain processed his latter comment with a bit of delay. She was visibly flustered, but aimed to remain casual; they were merely acquaintances. “Are you suggesting I’m… graceful?” Arte’mys probed jokingly, a timid smirk curving her lips. He enjoyed her reaction, leaning closer over the table towards her, barely rising an eyebrow, voice smooth and steady. “No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.” Arte’mys was surprised, momentarily at a loss for words as she swallowed the knot in her throat and let out an audible breath, with a more sultry sound than she intended, coming off as nothing short of flirty; and it added considerably to the burning shade of pink in her cheeks. She broke eye contact, forcing herself to look away, trying to subdue her uncontrollable smile, brushing a hand over the back of her neck timidly. Solas watched her closely, retaining his composure as he took the precious image in, satisfied and undoubtedly captivated. ‘Perhaps this is what it feels to fall prey to a radiant Dalish huntress with a silken mane of white’, he thought to himself, amusedly and, admittedly, a little smitten.

  
“It’s… getting late” Arte’mys stammered, running her eyes over her belongings as she fumbled blindly through her backpack in search of her wallet. ”We should probably get going—“ “Please, da’len; allow me” Solas injected, the tips of his fingers making contact with her wrist, stopping her. He stood up and slid into his coat elegantly, pulling out the appropriate sum of money from an inside pocket and paying for both of their drinks. In the meanwhile, the girl quickly dressed up as well, throwing her luggage over her shoulder and tumbling after him with small steps; she was still visibly abashed. “Ma serannas, hahren” she thanked him, glancing up; she wasn’t too short herself, but the professor was visibly taller. “There is no need to thank me.” He adjusted his collar as they slowly walked towards the exit, as he held the door open for her to pass through first. “And, please – Solas will do” he added tenderly. She appreciated the gestures of chivalry, which she wasn’t particularly used to, and stepped outside into the cold, drizzling rain. Only a few drops managed to hit her white locks of hair, before her figure was suddenly sheltered. With a faint sound, Solas had spread open a black umbrella, holding it between them to protect them from the weather. He took a deep breath, inhaling the invigorating chill. “It’s very soothing, don’t you think?” the elf mused, earning a small nod from the girl. “I used to hate it because it messed up the tracks when I hunted” she snickered. “Here, in the city, there is nothing to hunt; all you have to do is watch as the droplets splash over the intricate buildings.” She extended a hand and spread her fingers, allowing water to gather in her palm, frowning. “Everyone always seems too busy to just stop and appreciate the beauty of nature, even here, amongst this city of stone and concrete. There are such few trees… You have no squeaking squirrels, no chirping birds, no dashing rivers. I can not imagine spending my life here. It seems so lonely.” Solas was taken aback; it was a given that, in his arrogance, he never expected the Dalish to be too eloquent or even grasp complex thinking like that. She was right… it was lonely. Sometimes, unbearably so. “Back home, I’m never lonely, because I have my family” Arte’mys added after a short break, and beamed up at him. “But, now that I found you, maybe I could get used to a city like this, too.” It was a bad habit to let her mouth blabber on before her mind. “I mean… someone like you. I never expected outside elves -- the shemlen, even -- to be this kind and welcoming.” She spoke quickly, forcing a stiff laugh as she scratched the back of her head. Did she just make a complete fool out of herself…? Most probably.

  
“Sometimes, the world surprises me as well” Solas replied with a hearty laugh, touching the tip of his nose as he bought a hand to his face. “I never fathomed I would meet someone like you, either” he confessed. “Because I’m Dalish?” “That, too.” “I’m pretty sure that’s racist…” “I’m a historian.” “Historians can be racist.” “…Point taken.”

  
It was time for departure; having gotten her injuries tended properly, and, after a thorough questioning from prosecutor Pentaghast, the last thing Arte’mys had to do was thank the man who had saved her life. She faced him now, in the rain (albeit protected by his umbrella), watching him chuckle, feeling her heartbeat quickening. Was this what it felt like to create a bond with someone new, someone so foreign from everything you’ve ever known? A certain bitterness resided inside her at the fact that their meeting had passed so quickly and she had to return home in the woods, back to the wooden cabin, back to wandering through the mossy forest for days on end. Thanks to Solas, she had stepped into a whole new world; and she almost died for it, but she had no doubt it was worth the danger.

  
“Thank you, again…”, she paused, a strand of hair falling over her eyes, voice tightening; ”Solas.” It was the first time she had said his name; she knew what it meant in their native tongue, and she could tell how well it fit him. “Ah, thank _you_ ”, he replied in a low voice, “Arte’mys.” He said her name so beautifully; as if he embodied the grace of all elvhen. They exchanged a last soft laugh before the Dalish elf averted her eyes to the side. “I need to catch the last bus” she grunted, noticing as the vehicle approached the stop not too far away from the coffee shop; he nodded in understanding. “Dareth shiral; take great care when hunting” Solas spoke, his expression mellowing; he knew she could handle herself, but he still couldn’t help imagining her getting in danger again, without him to protect her. Arte’mys adjusted the straps of her backpack, fully zipping up her jacket, steadying on her feet. “I will. Andruil guides me. Dareth shiral” she reassured him, before smiling brightly, gesturing goodbye. She gathered courage in her heart, and spoke out, a little louder than before, right before running off for the bus: ”It was a blessing, meeting you!”

  
With no time to retort, Solas simply stood in place, watching as Arte’mys dashed after the bus and disappeared through the sliding doors. He watched her so intensely, every droplet of water that bounced off her hair seemed to turn into tumbling pearls. This was the first and last time he would ever see her; and, by the way his chest tightened, he could tell it would certainly not be the last time he thought of her brilliant, cerulean eyes.

  
“ _Now that I found you_ ” he whispered, before huffing in amusement to himself, turning on his heels and slowly heading home through the bustling city.

  
It was only at home that Arte’mys found a golden leaf stuck to the back of her jacket, and, heart hammering in her chest, she stacked it away safely, as a keepsake she would treasure for days on end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my modern Thedas is a mess, but bear with me, haha. So far, Lavellan grew up in the forest with her family and never attended school, but will move to the city 'for a better life', urged by her parents, after she gets attacked while hunting& Solas saves her. Solas is a historian and university professor who travels occasionally to study archaeological sites. Cassandra is the local stern prosecutor and works in collaboration with the precinct's captain, Cullen. Leliana is a former secret agent, Bull is an actual federal agent from a foreign country, Varric is one of the most influential people on the stock market (gets in trouble with the law a lot)& a best-selling author, Josephine is a law school student in her last year of uni& works as an intern at the best law firm in the city; she has a spot reserved for her at the embassy after she completes her studies due to her amazing academic performance. I'll think of more as I go. Hope you all enjoy the modern Thedas shenanigans! I loved coming up with their occupations. This probably sounds like Suits, lmao.


	2. Prompt#2: Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inevitably, Solas and Lavellan meet again; perhaps accepting Varric's invitation for a night out wasn't the worst idea that the professor had ultimately come up with. Arte'mys' parents had sent her to live the city life, but the fact that she was literally homeless seemed to have escaped their Dalish wisdom. PS: I'm in love with all the modern companions, so expect to see them throughout the fic!

No more than a week had passed since ‘the breach’, as Solas called it – a fitting name for a most unusual occurrence that had disturbed him from his routine: the day he saved a Dalish girl in the woods; the day he met Cassandra Pentaghast and Varric Tethras, with whom he ended up keeping in touch; and the day that followed, when he had the first opportunity to actually talk to the elven huntress and get to know her for a few hours as they shared a cup of coffee.

  
Somehow, the professor knew he shouldn’t have accepted to join his new-found acquaintances that night. He had a bad feeling about it ever since he left home, only to find that this time, there were about ten people there, all, no doubt, somehow linked to and persuaded by the talkative dwarf. “Chuckles! Glad you could make it!” Speaking of the devil; as soon as he sat down, Solas was greeted with a pat on the back from the kalna, distinct member of one of the biggest commercial organizations called the Merchants Guild. The elf had been ironically nicknamed ‘Chuckles’, seeing as Varric didn’t consider him to be much of a joy. “I am wondering how long before regret engulfs me” Solas replied, earning collective cackles from those around.

  
Searching his surroundings to try and identify the entirety of their party, Solas managed to recognize a few familiar faces; he saw the well-built Qunari, who claimed his ‘code name’ was The Iron Bull, a foreign federal agent who was at the police station the night they reported the attack in the forest; he was already consuming a generous amount of alcohol together with his lieutenant, Aclassi, a youthful, attractive agent who seemed to be the Bull’s favourite subordinate. Looking to the left, he spotted a mysterious red-haired woman with sharp facial features, caught in a zealous conversation with one of the local academic celebrities – Josephine Montiliyet, a top graduate in her last year of Law School from Antiva, rumoured future ambassador. His attention was caught by the sudden loudness of urban traffic that slipped through the door as precinct captain Cullen Rutherford stepped into the enclosed space, blond hair neatly swept back, the light stubble and facial scar contrasting nicely with his fully buttoned-up shirt and respectable fur-collar police uniform coat, earning a few head turns from his male and female fans alike – the former soldier was followed closely by his supervisor, prosecutor Cassandra Pentaghast, sporting the usual flinty furrow of her defined eyebrows above narrow chestnut eyes. There was a third guest Solas had definitely not taken into account at the start of the evening: a smaller figure took form as it emerged from the shadows timidly. It didn’t even take the historian a second to recognize the barely-visible freckles sprinkled like stars over the fullness of her pale cheeks. The dim pub light bounced off a flowing stream of ivory, her wavy hair no longer restrained in a bun at the back of her head. Smaller braids made their way through luscious locks, half of the hair pulled upwards in a high ponytail. She was wearing the same worn-out olive jacket over a black Bardot ribbed sweater, exposing the accentuated collarbones, fact which caused the male elf to draw a long breath; it was assumed that the huge rucksack Cassandra was stubbornly carrying belonged to the Dalish girl.  
“We have a situation” Pentaghast announced, placing the heavy luggage down with herculean strength. The newly-arrived joined everyone at the table, Arte’mys landing on the seat opposite of Solas, between Cassandra and Cullen, who looked slightly flustered and disoriented. “I’m still convinced this is a bad idea” he muttered to himself, pulling at his collar to allow more air into his lungs. “The matter is settled. It does not make it any less troubling, however” his boss replied, continuing with a heavy sigh, rubbing her temples to subdue the impending headache. She proceeded to explain the situation to their fellow companions, in hopes of finding a way to ease their problems if more perspectives were offered: “As of current, she has no legal documents of any sort, nor a place of residence. Apparently her… guardians have entrusted us to help her settle in the city, for safety and academic purposes.” Cassandra tried to subdue a groan; why the hell had she ended up responsible for the rogue elf, anyway? Surely, there were more important matters at hand. At times like these, she was certain that the Maker was testing her. The conclusion of her speech was indecisive, and they all looked at each-other in hopes of any suggestions. Some unfruitful questions and tentative plans were passed along the table, but, ultimately, nobody was quite sure what to do.

  
While the discussion reached a stalemate, Arte’mys was glued to her chair, visibly distraught, idly braiding some loose strands of hair; a nervous tick, no doubt. She hated causing so much distress; back in her camp, things weren’t so complicated – it was common for them to accept elves outside their family, even those hailing from the city Alienages. All of the systems that they had in the cities eluded her completely, but she understood how much of a pain she was to the outside world. Perhaps her place was back home, hidden away from the complexity of juridical norms. Her parents had set their hopes too high for her; she would just return to her place of birth, where she would remain until she grew old and tired. ‘Give them five more minutes. Shouldn’t have put so much pressure on them… Stupid, stupid. Let’s just go home’ she mused, her gaze sinking into her lap in disappointment. ‘I knew it was a bad idea. There’s no place for me here. I just thought…’ And, for a second, she wanted to glance at her hahren, but decided against it. ‘Silly. Nobody accepts the Dalish, you know that.’ Teeth sunk into the inside of her lips. ’If I leave now, I’ll be home by morning.’

  
Solas felt pity for the hunter; no longer baffled by the sheer incompetence of the Dalish and their complete lack of knowledge for anything outside their own badly-fetishized culture, he was instead sympathetic, knowing all too well what it meant to be alone in the world, with not a single soul to call for help. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, preparing himself for what would follow after his outright stupid proposal. “She can stay with me, if she so wishes” he declared simply, making the collective muttering stop, as they all stared at him. Arte’mys widened her eyes, and shook her head vigorously. “Solas, I cannot possibly ask any more of you than you’ve already offered me!” she opposed, but the rest of their company seemed to agree with his plan. “Given the circumstances, that’s easily the best option we’ve come up with all night” Leliana intervened, earning a nod of approval from Cassandra. “I can work something out with the legal proceedings; leave that to me” Josephine followed suit, making Cullen breathe out a faint “Thank the Maker”, not loud enough for anyone to actually hear. “I… guess I could provide her the basic materials to function properly; for a small fee, of course” Varric waved a hand casually. The murderous look he got from the prosecutor made him reconsider. “You know what? Scratch that – It’s on the house! You even get to pick the colours. Just… don’t ask for the rosegold phone – the Carta is still all up my ass about those.”

  
The elven girl couldn’t believe her ears; just a moment ago, she was ready to grab her bag and leave; but now, at the initiative of Solas, they had all opened up to her, offering what assistance was within their grasp. There was no hostility, no grudge against her or her people! Even Bull and his partner pitched in, assuring her that her attackers would be caught sooner than later and they would be brought to justice for their crimes. Overwhelmed, she looked back at Solas, unsure of how to react. The softhearted smile that curved his lips caused her eyes to water, quickly bringing a hand to her face to brush away the forming tears. She burst into laughter, her joy spilling out through wet drops and laughs alike. “Ma serannas, ma serannas!” she repeated, bowing her head at everyone, thanking them all from the bottom of her heart. “Creators hear me, I will never forget this kindness!”

  
Over the years, Solas’ affliction for long nights out and states of ebriety had decreased significantly. For the next couple of hours, everyone had pooled in whatever resources they possessed in order to ease the young elf’s transition into the city life. They joked and chatted, posing her questions, welcoming her earnestly into their social circle. By the time that Solas announced that they were going home, Arte’mys had come to enjoy the presence of the other girls, who complimented her on her hairstyle and were enamoured by her sweetness. She was almost upset that they had to leave so soon, being reminded of her father and how he always urged her to go to bed early and rise before the sun, to get more work in before nightfall. They bid everyone goodbye, not hesitating to offer even more confessions of gratitude.

 

The walk was quiet for a while; they paced steadily, side by side, the girl stealing glances at Solas’ serious expression every once in a while. He finally stopped and looked at her, unconsciously scanning the features of her face along with the feathers hanging from her pointed ears, and the black suede choker encircling her neck. “Something’s on your mind” he deduced, lightly raising an eyebrow. “I—I didn’t mean to bother you” Arte’mys blubbered in a rush, tugging her earlobe nervously. “I just… I don’t know. I never thought I would see you again” she admitted, wide eyes staring up at him. His gaze was calm, warm – accepting. “But here we are, aren’t we?” “Yes… I… I’m glad!” she stuttered, approaching him. “Really. If this isn't Mythal’s favour, then I don’t know what else” she heaved, ruffling the back of her hair. Solas couldn’t contain a subtle snort; which provoked her to place a hand over his chest, playfully pushing with little to no strength. “Hey! I heard that” she scolded, scowling; the fact that not all cultures were as close-knit and touchy-feely as hers seemed to slip past her mind. Solas wasn’t incredibly physical with others; at least, not within the first few days of knowing them; not to say that there wasn’t a rebellious side to him, remaints of his own youth. He seized her wrist and tugged her near him, leaning closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Good.” The mischievous smirk plastered over his mouth caused her face to redden, pulling away and huffing. The little jabs and elven banter amused both of them, and brought them together seamlessly. Their chatter and giggling faded away into the night as they made their way home; Arte’mys held onto a pretty leaf that she picked up right outside the pub, planning to spread her collection to various shapes and colours along her journey into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, it's almost 3 am and I need to be up in three hours to go to uni. I hate the length of this chapter, but it was all I could do and I tried to wrap it up as best I could. Hope it's still a good read! Thank you for the support! <3 ( I know I missed out a day, I'll try to make up for it by posting twice this Saturday. )


	3. Prompt#3: Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's not much left to do for the night; Lavellan settles in Solas' apartment, admiring his paintings and bickering lovingly before they resume to going to sleep, their gazes lingering dangerously on each-other under the moonlight.

It was close to midnight when Solas unlocked the door and invited the Dalish girl into his home; she stepped in, curiosity getting the better of her as she looked around with big eyes. His flat wasn’t intricately decorated; the design was simple yet cosy. The very first thing that she noticed was a painting easel that faced a narrow wall built entirely of windows that reigned from the ceiling to the floor. Beside the wooden support were canvases, rested one behind another, bearing beautiful paintings in dark colours; she seemed to make out a theme of red, dark and gold. The painting at the very front, which she could see clearly, pictured a lone wolf, howling in sorrow besides an abandoned sword. She bent down, flipping her hair backwards so her vision wouldn’t be obstructed, and studied the works that must have taken countless hours to complete.

“Ah, my secret is out” Solas admitted, mocking defeat; he made sure he didn’t forget to lock the door before putting his keys in their usual spot. The place was pristine, not even a single biscuit crumb stuck in the abundant fibre of the soft carpentry; even the tall windows were squeaky-clean, not a single thumb spot perturbing visibly—“Wow, the view here is surreal!” the girl exclaimed, leaning over the glass, plastering her hands and forehead right on top of the transparent surface.

Well. Nevermind the pristine windows.

“Solas, this is… incredible!” she beamed excitedly, the name slipping once again as she turned to look back at him, a childish grin sprawling from ear to ear. He let out a soft laugh, hanging his coat by the rack, and approached her to take her jacket as well. “I am glad you’re not upset.” “Upset?!” As they conversed, Solas lowered on his heels to reach for two pairs of slippers; obviously, they didn’t fit her petite feet very well. He made a mental note to buy her a more appropriate pair when he went out for groceries next time. “It’s like I’m in a dream!” Arte’mys exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and twirling happily. “You saved me, accepted me into your home… I will do my best not to cause any more trouble” she added on a more serious note, the tension leaving her shoulders. Solas listened to her, feeling some heaviness lift off his heart. “You are safe here; I promise” was all he spoke in response, their eyes locking onto each other for a few moments. She was the first to look away, blinking rapidly to snap out of the momentary reverie. “Of course! If anyone tries anything…!” She bent and jumped lightly, swirling mid-air, mimicking throwing daggers behind her back. “I’ll hunt them down!” The elder elf shook his head as a laugh escaped past his lips. “I have not a single doubt. Come, da’len. Even the restless Dalish children must sleep, if I’m not mistaken.” He extended his arm towards the hall, and she stepped forward, scanning her surroundings. “You’re rowing dangerous waters, hahren.”The last word was pressured, mostly stressing the age different between them. Solas raised an eyebrow as he walked beside her, carrying her rucksack towards his bedroom. If she meant to make him feel old, she was a hundred years too late. “Apologies. Should I plant a tree to make up for my misbehaviour?” Used to playful taunts and punishing nudges with her brothers and sisters back home, instinct kicked in, aiming to smack him lightly; her hand ended up colliding with his abdomen, which felt a little too toned under his pullover for her not to take notice; it definitely did not send a shiver from the tip of her fingers down to her back. “I’m starting to think you only wanted me here with you so you could tease me and my people” Arte’mys lightly stuck her tongue out, but Solas purposely acted as if he hadn’t noticed, due to his hovering height compared to her stature; his muscles did tighten slightly under her touch, but he paid no mind to it. “You would not be wrong, for once.” Mischief framed his satisfied smile as he looked down at her, the girl crossing her arms. Moderate elven cursing followed, and Solas clicked his tongue in suit. “Now, now. Is vulgarity a cultural habit of your clan?” Her tone changed, trying to impose herself. “I should let you know that I did take my weapons with me.” “Perhaps you should work more on posing threats; so far, I’m only inclined to find it adorable, and terribly tempted to proceed in offering you a snack and a pat on the head.”

Before the hunter could bark back a reply, Solas pushed open the door to his bedroom; despite the fact that he had a separate chamber as his office, books were neatly stacked here as well, along with aging scrolls and other curious objects that Arte’mys suspected were elven artefacts, or, at least, reproductions of some. Moonlight fell onto the sheets of the queen-sized bed, spreading light into the otherwise dim room. Solas stepped inside, leaving the girl’s heavy rucksack resting against the night table, picking off a book and a pen-drawn sketch from the mattress; he had forgotten them before leaving out to meet with Varric and the others. The light still hadn’t been turned on; there was something especially mystical about the way that silver rays pooled over his figure, offering him a spectral glow, sinking the hollows of his high cheekbones into the shadows even more, lining the fine lines of his law and the curves of his sculpted shoulders. He glanced back at the white-haired maiden, almost startled by the intensity with which her turquoise orbs glowed in the dark, much alike a wildcat’s. He was stuck wondering why she wasn’t flicking the switch to turn the lights on, before realizing how slim chances were that she actually had any sort of electricity back home with her clan.

  
“Well, I’ll let you get some rest” he concluded after a long pause, heading towards the hall once again. Arte’mys was increasingly mesmerized, the more her eyes followed him, simultaneously feeling the exhaustion slowly seep into her bones as her lids started feeling heavy. “But… where will you sleep?” she asked, puzzled; for her, sharing a bed was as common as breathing. Sometimes, they would sleep three, or even four together, cuddled like pups, snuggling a wide blanket close to keep each-other warm during cold winter nights, when the heat of the fireplace couldn’t keep up any longer. Solas felt blood rushing to the surface of his perturbing cheeks; thankfully, it was still dark. “The living room couch is more comfortable than one would expect”, he reasoned, leaning one arm against the door frame before leaving. “Goodnight, da’len.” He glanced one more time at her, eyes trailing after the white outline of the moon against her shape, cascading from her angelic hair to her slim neck and the diminished curves of her chest and hips. When she replied, he almost jumped in place, a little outraged at his own conduit. _What the hell are you thinking? She’s under your care; a pure, young soul who put her trust in you, and you’re gawking at her like a starving wolf eyeing a halla._ “Goodnight, hahren” she whimpered tiredly, bringing a hand to rub her eyes as she yawned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today wasn't such a good day, but I feel better now and I'm glad that I took the time to write; Solavellan works wonders for improving my mood! I have so much to study, it's surreal. Why, Law School? Why? I wish I could write more, but I am beyond exhausted, and heading to bed myself. Anyway, hope you lovelies enjoyed this day's chapter!


	4. Prompt#4: Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important PSA: Solas wearing a shirt with rolled up sleeves, cooking Lavellan breakfast. Also, Solas swearing in his office as he grades his students' papers. Also, Solas taking his time to admire Lavellan's slender but toned body. Bad doggie.

Arte’mys was nowhere as graceful when she slept as she was while hunting, to quote Solas. Her pale frame sprawled over the bed, taking full advantage of the fact that she finally had enough space to stretch out shamelessly without having to worry about suckerpunching her relatives. She lied on her stomach, one arm disappearing behind the pillow that her face rested on, cheek squashed and pushed back against her nose, a thread of dribble running down her chin. The blanket had long since spilled from the mattress onto the floor, revealing her choice of pyjamas, namely the pair of floral, loose shorts in pastel colours and a faded pink sweater that had a white stag printed on the centre. Golden sunlight gushed in through the curtains, gently hitting her frame with warmth. The sight was one to behold, her wild, bushy hair splashing against the navy bedsheets in foamy waves. Noise resonated from behind the door, and her pointy ears twitched in response. Slowly, her eyelids slid open, uncovering her vibrant beryl orbs. With a groan at the sudden flash of light that sent her into temporary blindness, she pushed herself up, propped on one arm, brushing hair out of her face with her fingers, squinting as her eyes got accustomed to the brightness of day. Still a little woozy, she slid out of bed, heading directly into the hall, following the strange sounds.

It didn’t take more than a few steps to realize that the noise was coming from the kitchen. The girl’s confusion cleared away when it turned out that the flow of water and clank of plates were the authors of all the disquiet. Slim, defined hands washed away at the tableware, water pouring down the veins that showed from beneath Solas’s fair skin. The Dalish continued advancing lazily until the professor caught sight of her. “Good morning” he greeted, bemused by her sleepiness. He had always been an early bird, having already eaten, cleaned after himself and graded half of the papers stacked on the desk in his office. Now, he had returned to the kitchen to take care of his used coffee cup, and, estimating her tardiness, prepared breakfast for his guest; which was evident by the way Arte’mys’ nostrils flared as she sniffed in the delicious scent of bacon omelette. “’morning” she mumbled in reply, her eyes darting towards the table. “This is… for me?” she asked tentatively, mouth watering considerably. One assumed he had already eaten, since he was already changed into clean clothes, the white dress shirt falling unbearably well over his sculpted back, stretching a little tight over the toned muscles. Her heart seemed to pick up the pace, alarming her. ‘Girl, stop. He’s like, 40’ she tried to coerce her wandering mind with the exaggeration, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head to dishevel the misplaced thoughts. ‘I’m just tired. He’s not even that hot.’

Solas wiped his hands on a towel, before placing it down neatly to dry. His sleeves were rolled up, folded just before his elbows. The first button of the shirt was undone, surprisingly; she half-expected to find him even wearing a thousand dollar tuxedo. Praying was in order, so that the Dalish would keep her cool. ‘Falon’Din, guide me into death. He’s _so_ hot.’ “Yes. I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty to prepare you a meal” he spoke, and Arte’mys noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. She could see his eyes better: what a gorgeous shadow of light blue. It reminded her precisely of what the sky looked like as storm clouds gathered seconds before heavy rain would start pouring. Caught staring, she peeled her gaze off him and moved to take a seat at the table, in front of her plate of food. “Of course not. Thank you, Solas. Honestly, you’re way too kind to me” she grumbled, cutting her food messily. He shook his head, one of the arms crossed over his chest rising up to wave dismissively. “Please. I do not mind cooking. It is a pleasure. I still have some work to do; enjoy your meal, and let me know when you are ready.” He prepared to return to his office, but she spoke up quickly, blubbering with her mouth full, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, no doubt looking very attractive. “Reathy fwr wha?” Solas bit his tongue to hold back a chuckle. Since when were Dalish girls so freaking adorable? He almost couldn’t stand it, so he turned away, towards the hall. “Going out, of course.”

Lavellan was left to finish her meal in silence, taking huge bites and chugging down the delicious, honeyed tea that she had found on the table. Solas didn’t drink tea, so she was pleasantly surprised – his form of mildly procrastinating on his work that morning had been to travel to the grocery store downstairs and get a pack of raspberry tea… not for _her_ , but just in case he had any _other_ guests who enjoyed tea.

Right.

It wouldn’t take her very long to get ready, but there was a matter of personal hygiene she couldn’t tend to without a bathroom; after eating, she clumsily washed her dishes (it was the least she could do, despite Solas’s protests when he would find out) and pranced around his apartment, trying to figure out where exactly his office _was_. Her bare feet tapped against the floor tiles, daintily peeking through a door she had found ajar. Thankfully, it so happened to be the room she was looking for. Solas was sitting at his desk, one hand perched up, knuckle straddled on the black rim of his glasses, which had lightly glided down his nose, further away from his dark eyebrows.  His eyes were narrower than usual, focused intensely on the papers scattered over the desk, swirling a red pen between lean, bony fingers. Arte’mys simply watched him, tensing when he suddenly let out a low growl. “For fuck’s sake.” She almost gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. Proper, educated Solas using such ungodly words? It was too much of a treat to miss, and too good an opportunity for blackmail, so she tried to keep him from noticing her, remaining quiet as she observed his monologue. “Why come to this cursed lecture when you refuse to even learn how to spell a name correctly?!” She felt a giggle bubbling up, but did her best to suppress it, backing away behind the door to hide from his sight. Red ink collided with the paper, crossing a considerable amount of words angrily. She could tell by the motions of his hands that his student wouldn’t be passing that year. “Find someone else’s time to waste” he flared accusingly at the still sheets, unsurprisingly receiving no reaction from them.

Not wanting to further annoy him, Arte’mys turned to leave so he had time to cool down – but, clumsy as she was, she backed away into the wall and banged her knee against the door, yelping audibly. Solas shot up from his chair, dropping his attention from the papers, and walked up to her with rapid steps. “Are you all right?” He knelt down, examining her bruising knee with care. Lavellan swallowed hard, trying to ignore the electricity that made her skin prickle under his touch. “It’s fine! Don’t worry, I just…  bumped into it by mistake” she pulled away, her cheeks burning scarlet. It felt weird to have his face so close to her exposed legs. “Lethallan, you must be more careful” he instructed, letting out a sigh. He didn’t process the use of the endearment in the flurry of concern. “It appears you will live, but I suggest refraining from further attempts to break your own bones. ” Seeing her bashful expression seemed to ease his previous anger. She was surprised to hear him call her that, but she smiled back at him. It was certainly an improvement from ‘da’len’, and it reminded her dearly of home. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I wanted to ask if I could take a shower…” Solas mentally kicked himself. He had forgotten to show her around last night. “Forgive me, it completely evaded my mind. Of course you can, but first, let me present the apartment to you.”

Moments later, they were in the bathroom, Solas standing in the doorway, holding onto the frame. “So, here we are. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything” he beckoned. “I left some towels out for you. You’re welcome to deposit any toiletries you wish, the space has been cleared to make room. Unfortunately, the only shower is in here; the guest bathroom was built too small to fit anything in. It goes without saying that this bathroom is at your disposition whenever.”

Arte’mys’s mind wandered. _So, we’re sharing the same bath?_ She thanked him timidly, holding a fresh change of clothes in her arms, as well as a soap she brought from home, made by her mother as a parting gift.

“I’ll leave you to get ready.”

Water dripping down her body, the girl felt exhilarated. After the long travel, the crazy hunting incident, and the wound in her palm (which was healing excruciatingly slow, still causing her pain underneath the crimson scar left behind), a hot shower seemed to be the perfect cure. The only long baths she took back home were in rivers during summer; in colder seasons, they always made sure to be quick and stir away of being wasteful, so she was used to spontaneous experiences with manually-boiled water, inevitably having experienced her fair share of accidental burns. Back home, their source of running water was the stream that ran right outside their cabin, and they chopped wood bi-weekly to keep the fireplaces and bonfires going. Since fall had well settled in, and temperatures were low, she didn’t prolong her shower out of habit, quickly soaping her body and shampooing her hair before getting out of the bath.

It didn’t take more than ten minutes before Solas was met with Lavellan’s beautiful eyes in the living room again, her hair still damp, droplets of water sprinkled over her skin alike his own faded freckles atop the bridge of his nose. She had drawn her signature eyeliner and left her lashes bare, fluttering white, the same way he remembered them on the first day they met. He was sitting on the couch, leaning back into the comforting softness, legs crossed in front of him as he enjoyed a quiet moment of reading; it was his favourite past-time, no doubt. Lavellan strode in front of him, rising her arms to ruffle her heap of hair with a towel. She was wearing the same tight pants as yesterday, this time sporting a crimson sweater with shoulder cutouts. As she moved closer, he noticed another cutout that exposed her back, barely concealed by loose-hanging horizontal straps, as if the shortness of the front side wasn’t enough; he almost felt like an over-protective father, plotting various ways to end anyone who would let their gaze linger on the girl a second more than his liking. Solas couldn’t help noticing her pear-shaped figure; as a hunter, she was nothing short of athletic. Despite the general impression of a petite elf, her hips were more ample than he thought, contrasting with her narrow waist. He caught a glimpse of a small, scarred cut as her sweater lifted to reveal her midriff; years of training showed through the lean shape, abdominal muscles well-defined. She was supple and youthful, a most refreshing sight for Solas who had grown tired of his own reflection made up of sharp angles, shadowed hollows and elongated _everything_. Sometimes, he had trouble not seeing himself as an old man, but the new presence in his house was painstakingly good at making him forget about his worries.

“When are we leaving, lethallin?” she plopped beside him, onto the couch, drying her hair vigorously. He made note of the new way she used to address him, and finally realized he had been the first, in fact; not that he minded at all - it made his heart sing. “Varric should be here any minute." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit happier with how this chapter turned out, but it's already 2 am and I wanted to write another one today-- yesterday. Fuck. This ship gives me life. I wish Solas was my roommate so he could help me take off the Halloween decorations; my tall friends hung some pumpkin cutouts from the top of my closet and I can't reach to take them off... Alas, I could climb a chair, but I'm too lazy. Hope you enjoyed! I never knew that writing every day could be this exciting and fun.


	5. Prompt#5: Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sassy fab squad are entrusted with getting Arte'mys a new wardrobe, and she's completely uncomfortable. Shopping seems so difficult for her, and mind-blowing at the same time. She thought of her Keeper, and why exactly it was that she had been sent away. Solas is more than mildly annoyed, but the sight of her wearing that tight dress stayed in his mind for the duration of the evening.

Arte’mys was a little intimidated; she half-expected to only see the dwarf, since he promised to buy her the basic necessities; but, now that they actually arrived at the shopping mall, she dreadfully realized that they were most certainly not a small group.

“You can call this an intervention” Varric chuckled, pointing towards the others; faces she recognized, from the other day at the bar. Cassandra stood tall, unwavering, as always. Lavellan also remembered Leliana, the woman with the striking red hair, and her gossip partner, Josephine, a fashionable Law student.  A new presence had joined them: namely, a tanned man with a moustache that intrigued the Dalish girl, since elves couldn’t grow facial hair. “Dorian Parvus” Solas stated matter-of-factly, hands resting in the pockets of his coat. “Solas, my good man! I’m most surprised to see you actually leaving your house.” He was so well-dressed; the brown tweed suit complimented his form well. A scarf snarled around his neck, his longcoat hanging onto a single shoulder. She had to stop and wonder how he managed to hold it in place like that. “Hilarious. Please, continue.” Solas was more casual today; the white shirt had been paired with a navy blazer. Lavellan felt underdressed, considering that the other two women were also very chic – even the prosecutor.  ‘Colleagues, most probably’ Arte’mys mused, watching the Tevinter man tease her roommate – hah, what a weird concept. Her handsome roommate who was probably a decade older than her. She breathed in sharply, trying to focus. “And this is our little Red Riding Hood?” the fellow professor jested, attention shifting to her. “Arte’mys, of clan Lavellan” she introduced herself politely. “A pleasure, miss Lavellan. My deepest condolences for having to share the same living space as this hermit” he sighed dramatically, but Solas didn’t even bother to take offense at the jabs anymore. He was used to the man’s ridicule by now. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that he caught no sight of Vivienne – that woman would’ve truly given him a severe headache.

“Well then, let’s get on with it; We’ve got a long list to go through.”

Arte’mys had never really gone ‘shopping’ before; they only things they ever bought were special textiles, and they rather traded them for the materials her family gathered out in the forest, with travelling caravans and small businesses who wanted resources at a lower price. Her parents were the only ones who had ever travelled into a city before, and it was only to establish more trading connections. Their funds were small, but they made the best of what they had, selling fresh produce from their gardens, dairy, authentic pelts, sculpted halla horns and the unique Dalish metal, ironbark. Her sister Lanari was the best crafter; her trinkets and jewellery were quite popular everywhere they went, and her father always praised her for helping out their family so much. The white-haired hunter wasn’t quite as talented; truthfully, her only ability was brewing poison, only because she was, in fact, too terrible to ever create something beneficial, like the healing salves and various remedies that her mother Athehra and her youngest sister Panoriel made together. Hunting was Arte’mys’s strongest suit; but her elder sister Shaeryn was the lead huntress, and she was just her sidekick. Adventure and wanderlust called out to her; chasing her prey through the lush sanctuaries of green, exploring abandoned caves, trying to make a sense of the outside world; but what use was that? She was good with daggers, and that was it – who even fought with daggers in their era anymore? The terror that swept across her when her parents told her they were sending her into the city was immeasurable. What would she do there? She had no talent for wood or metalworking, was disastrous when it came to cooking, and not even close to as gifted as her sister Nesilva when it came to music or speech. Their clan’s First, and her close friend, Varthorn, protested greatly at the decision; their clan was thrown into disarray. Why her? Nesilva or their Second, Yevrian, would have dealt much smoother with the outside world, given they were the most literate and well-read; her father and Lanari could’ve improvised a shop and worked their way up into the commerce industry. Why, suddenly, decide to deploy the otherwise average Arte’mys? Everyone knew she was quite mellow, always overshadowed by someone else, never remarkably good at anything in particular – but Deshanna, their Keeper, knew all of the children under her care like they were her own. She observed everyone; knew their strengths, their weaknesses, and attributed their roles in their restrictive society in everyone’s best interest. It was she, after all, together with her husband, who proposed to Cyrrahel and Arethra that their daughter was sent away. “A storm is coming”, she had told them, “and it is the will of the Creators that she must leave.” Very cryptic – and very confusing for the young elf. Was it such a big deal that she had been attacked? Or perhaps they thought she would taint them, after venturing without their consent into the shemlen city? An ocean of questions remained unanswered, and she was sent away. Away from her family, her friends, her safe haven. The parting was tearful, and even Yevrian, her favourite person in the world, who barely shared his feelings, held her into an embrace so tight it made her feel like she would never see him again.

Deshanna knew. She knew how good Arte’mys was at blending in, how well she played with the shadows, how fast her reflexes were, how analytic her mind became in pressing situations; she knew of her compassion, her kindness, her selflessness, her devotion to their clan. She was the perfect spy to send out and gather wind of what was truly unraveling under unsuspecting gazes.

The girl’s mind had wandered off; it had been a few hours since they started fretting all over the mall. Varric was the best informed on the high-quality brands on the market – most of which belonged to him. The first step had been to get her a phone, a  laptop, and a matching pair of headphones, even if she barely had any grasp of technology. “You’ll get the hang of it” he reassured her, not paying much mind. Cassandra had taken the devices and left for the precinct, saying she had to first make sure they were secure, and that the Iron Bull promised his aid in the matter. After wandering around for additional groceries and other miscellaneous things like a new toothbrush (Solas had insisted vehemently, after seeing her hand-made one, and finding out it was over six months old), the dwarf put his wallet away and bid everyone goodbye. “Ladies, you’re up. I’ve got a meeting with Hawke” he explained, and gave the women a wink, before disappearing into the crowd, heading towards the basement parking lot.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, have we?” Josephine asked, approaching the timid elf. Leliana joined in, along with Dorian, and they all exchanged pleasantries, with Solas watching in boredom; he couldn’t leave, since he had to take Arte’mys back home afterwards. Dorian stepped up, his eyes gliding over her outfit. “Well – not to impose, but those rags are dreadful. Let’s show you what _real_ clothes look like.” Arte’mys had never expected to see such a sassy shemlen in her life. Despite the blunt insult, she was mildly amused, and a little scared; perhaps this is what the cornered animals she hunted felt like.

Cosmetics came first; but the Dalish barely allowed them to buy anything for her, insisting that she had creams and perfumes made by her own clan, and she was met with surprisingly no opposition, followed by a compliment on the sweet scent of Vandal Aria that enveloped her, a type of rose usually found in desert areas, that her clan had acquired through trading. She felt a little relieved to see them show some acceptance for Dalish products, at least.

Shopping for clothes turned out to be incredibly complicated and time-consuming, not to mention exhausting. Leliana seemed to be an expert on shoes, but the elven girl found them restraining and uncomfortable; that didn’t stop the bard from getting her at least three pairs of heels, boots, and, at Arte’mys’s request, even a pair of flats. Minutes later, they seemed to be ready to go, Solas being tasked with carrying the compelling amount of shopping bags that had stacked up since morning. “Ah, one last thing, if I may” Dorian intervened, picking out a last piece of clothing. “Since you’ll be attending college, you’ll need to own something a little more eye-catching. I hear the parties are quite wild” he smirked, obviously talking from experience; he was always the mastermind behind most of the outrageous college parties that Solas heard of. The girl froze in her place. “I’ll be – what?!” “Hurry, now! I’m dying to see if we have anything to work with, at all” he scoffed at the plainess of her figure, and urged her towards the dressing room. Solas’s eyebrow twitched, arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the closest surface. Protests hammered from behind the changing room door, but ultimately, it creaked open, causing Leliana and Josephine to gasp with delight. “That looks sensational.” “Dorian, I hate to admit, but you have the best eye for such things.” “Of course I do – but, oh, go on.” “It hugs her curves so well!” “Elegant, but daring. Fitting, no?”

What was all that darn commotion about? Curiosity got the better of him, as Solas stepped closer, to get a better look. The moment their eyes met, he felt the tips of his ears set themselves on fire. “What do you think? Isn’t it gorgeous? The dress is made so well. And… ah, yes, I suppose she’s quite pretty, herself” Dorian yapped, but Solas could barely process anything anymore. “Beautiful” he mouthed, before clearing his throat. “A beautiful dress, indeed, but I suggest we hurry before the store closes and we get locked in.” The image was stuck in his mind for the rest of the evening, and it was the last thing he saw before he went to sleep.

_Beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly longer chapter! Having a whole day to write surely makes a difference. My thoughts are kinda scattered, so it ends abruptly most of the time. I hope I'll get to post another one today, so that I'm up to date. Solas will not be happy when he finds out that half of Arte'mys's clothes are crop tops and miniskirts; maybe he should've paid more attention! What was the Keeper talking about? Was there an ulterior motive to sending Arte'mys into the city? Was her attack not a random incident at all? Questions, questions! Hope you enjoyed today's chapter, as well.


	6. Prompt#6: Freshman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arte'mys's first day of college is as nerve-wrecking as she had expected; Krem makes an appearance again, this time presenting himself as a rookie, instead of the fully-fledged Lieutenant to a foreign federal agent that she knew him as. While she had expected Solas to be a kind and patient professor, she came to realize that her conception might be a little flawed, seeing as half the students called him the 'Dread Wolf' - she was starting to see why.

'Deep breath. Relax. You’ll be alright.'

 _Damn_ , that building was _huge_ , and it sure as hell didn’t help the Dalish girl’s nerves settle down. Her heart hammered mercilessly in her chest, backpack hanging low on one of her shoulders. She held a few books in her arms, clutching them to her chest nervously. She unconsciously nibbled her lower lip hard enough to leave a visible mark. Her legs were frozen, unmoving; the noise that passed her ears dissipated, muffled and distant. Figures walked past her up the imposing marble stairs, a multitude of faces bleeding away into her short-term memory. There was a nauseating feeling that threatened to throw the entire contents of her stomach upside down.

“Da’len.”

Lavellan jumped in her place; a familiar warmth seeped over her, and she noticed Solas’s hand resting on her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous” he teased with a small smile. “Hahren, I can _not_ deal with your teasing right now…!” She let out a sigh, readjusting her backpack. “Or should I call you _Professor_?”

Solas felt a heart string being pulled far away and then released to snap back at him, square in the face. She was right. What else could he address him as? Anything aside from his actual title would make their relationship seem inappropriate, and he had no immediate desire to lose his job.

“That would be best” he muttered in reply, trying to kick down the heaviness laying on his chest. How was it that when she said it, it sounded so… so…

“Well, _Professor_ , we’re… being late to your own class” she pointed out, tapping her foot against the floor impatiently.

_Infuriating? Frustrating?_

**_Pleasing._ **

_‘For the love of – Stop this nonsense. You’re a grown man.’_  He had to contain himself from throwing a feat, internalizing his struggle. It had to be the coffee. He had been absent-minded that morning; made the coffee too bleak. Of course. _The coffee_.

Arte’mys raised an eyebrow, small fingers reaching to tug at his sleeve tentatively. “Um…Hahren?” she probed, snapping the elder elf out of his reverie. He rubbed his temples, moving his gaze back to her, just in time to catch a mellow ray of autumn sun fall onto her eyes, and they sparkled like jewels; the more time they spent together, the more precious she became for him.

“Forgive me; I was lost in thought.” A giggle. “I wonder what the contemplating mind of an old man sounds like.” Oh, mischievous little Dalish— He forced an exasperated exhale, which only encouraged her to continue speaking. “Something along the lines of…”

He cut her off, narrowing his eyes, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“ _When will this child stop trying to be clever_?”

“Oh, _ha ha_. I’m officially leaving without you!” Solas watched Arte’mys as she spun on her heels, stuck her tongue out at him, and ran off into the University.

A white, braided bun bobbled up and down as she quickly paced around the halls, eyes desperately searching for the room number; in her complete lack of attention to where she was going, she bumped full-force into someone, knocking them back. “ _Andruil’s spear_ – Ir abelas! My apologies!” A hurried chain of mixed elven and common tongue erupted from her lips, approaching the stranger worriedly. To her surprise, it turned out to be no stranger at all – but Cremisius Aclassi, the federal agent’s young partner? Her eyes widened at the realization, but, noticing other people around, Krem bought a finger to his lips, the look on his face pleading for her silence. She nodded slowly, making him erupt in a grin. “Guess you’re the new student!” he faked small talk, picking up the books she had just dropped. He stacked them nicely, then held them out for her. “I’m Krem; here to help ya out, if you get into trouble.” Arte’mys assumed that the wink had other implications, namely his… undercover operation? Were they still keeping tabs on her? It had already been a week since she settled in with Solas, and she was convinced that the suspicious attack had been filed under strange occurrences and not investigated any further. _Shemlens_ , always complicating everything. As she took the books from him, she noticed him slipping a paper between the pages.  He tapped the hardened cover suggestively, before turning towards another flight of stairs. “Come on, Professor Solas’s course is on the first floor.”

Lectures seemed to not differ so much from the teachings of her own people, after all. For two hours, Arte’mys sat silently next to the attractive Tevinter agent, listening with genuine curiosity as Solas presented the day’s chapter of Fereldan history – namely, the Fifth Blight – a terrible plague that had terrorized the land. Being a Free Marcher, she had learned little to nothing about the outside world, only ever studying Dalish culture and history (which, as Solas so heart-warmingly observed, was half made-up, even if she still couldn’t find it in herself to fully believe him). It was an odd time to enrol, since most universities had already started since October, but Varric, Solas and Dorian had somehow made it happen, and her parents had sent all of their savings to make sure they could at least partially cover the tuition cost; they were so intent on her receiving a higher education to broaden her opportunities for the future, it almost scared her; why did they insist so much on keeping her away from the clan? Half of her wavered, doubting, weeping; and the other half accepted her duty selflessly, enduring any obstacles that may appear in her path. If that was what the Keeper thought best, then she would do whatever had been asked of her, to honour her clan, and her people. It didn’t take too much thought for her to realize that she wanted to become Solas’s apprentice and share his knowledge of history; maybe it was her very loyalty to the clan that had gotten her into the city, to educate herself and give a voice to the Dalish: to speak up for all elves, for the Alienages, for the _slaves_ , to bring a new era of change to Thedas.

Or so she dreamed. For now, she listened to the legends of the brave Grey Wardens, admiring the perfect heart shape of Solas’s lips as he relayed his teachings with ardour; his fingers traced the lines of text with a soft motion, and, as she looked up his arm, she noticed the first button of his shirt undone. She could see the shaded crook of his neck perfectly. _Creators_. Who _sculpted_ this man? Flat-ears weren’t supposed to be sexy.

“Wait, _what_? _Really_?!” Krem furrowed his eyebrows, gaze shifting between the Professor and the Dalish girl. “You have the hots for the bald prof?” He broke into a chuckle, hand forming a fist, brought up to his nose to conceal the noise; they still had ten more minutes to go before break.

 Arte’mys felt her lips parting, mouth hanging open as realization hit her. She felt her feet go cold.

Her mouth closed. Then opened again. “I said that out loud didn’t—“ “Yyyup.” Elvish mumbling. Something about Dirthramen. She raised a finger at Krem.

“Keep this between us and I’ll put in a good word for you with Cassandra. She still seems suspicious of you and… and… your…” Her eyes quickly darted around to check if anyone was listening to their conversation, not sure how to address the situation in such a public space. “Ohh, my _chief_. “ The Lieutenant almost smirked. “Is that right?” She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow, crossing her arms. So that’s how it was going to be. Codenames, cover-ups. The city started to seem a lot less welcoming, the more she found out about its inhabitants; not that they seemed like bad people, but her skin was prickling with an odd sensation. There was something hidden in plain sight; something she couldn’t quite grasp. “Mmmhm. Didn’t I tell you? I’m a rookie; gonna join an international joint squad after I graduate. Right now, Chief’s lookin’ after me, since he has business in town.” Ah. That seemed nice a pretty neat story; amusedly, she wondered if Varric had written all of that up for them.

“ _Da’len_.” Her heart skipped a beat. Turning away from Krem, she noticed everyone staring at them. Her voice had gotten louder without her will, and she had interrupted Solas’s course. He gave her a stern glare, leaning forward on the desk, looming accusingly over them from the podium. The only thing she could think about was how symmetrical his shape was, broad shoulders complimented by his dark grey blazer; it bought the colour in his eyes out so well; eyes which were extremely gorgeous when he was angry.

“I’m certain that you can attempt your charms on the young man _after_ the lecture is over?” Arte’mys felt her cheeks burning, turning red all over as she gulped and frowned at him accusingly, not daring to say anything back. What a perfect first day; embarrassed in front of everyone by her ridiculously handsome professor. Who she lived with. And made her bacon omelette every morning (it had become a ritual, since she never woke up early enough to have time to eat). And flirted with her vehemently, the first time they met, before awkward social circumstances were bestowed upon them.

The professor decided to continue, given her silence. “Thank you. Now, if I may… just a few last words on these idle Fereldan blabberings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, I accidentally missed a day because I fucking forgot to write!!! I finally started playing DA2 and I got carried away until it was 2 am and I had to go to sleep lmao. I am still shocked@ Fenris's voice, blew my ovaries away. Have you guys seen Doctor Strange? I watched it tonight and it was amazing, I'm in a very whimsical mood now, wish they'd make a tv show about the monk wizard people. I'm high on exhaustion and I need to wake up in 4 hours. Shit. Hope you enjoyed! <3


	7. Prompt#7: Drifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Arte'mys are growing more accustomed to each-other; perhaps a little *too* accustomed; and things get pretty steamy. The Dalish girl is late to her lunch with Varric, who has an idea about a potential roommate for her, someone closer to her age and whom she doesn't have to endure extreme sexual tension with.

A couple of weeks had passed without either of them realizing; before long, they had grown into habits dependent of each-other. Solas always woke first; while he made her breakfast, she made him coffee – surprisingly, it was the best coffee he had ever had, despite her affinity for tea; they went grocery shopping every Friday evening, and she was quick and clever as a fox, always taking advantage of discounts, slipping between the crowd to catch the best products, hurrying to the cashier right before the long queues started forming; and, somehow, she seemed to get the best deal on fresh produce. Solas had insisted that she needn’t bother, because finances weren’t a problem, but since she didn’t actually have a personal income, it was the least she could do. She even helped him with the papers at home; even if he was organized, the stacking assignments and calls and writing for his history blog could get out of hand, but she was always there to help him out, basically turning into his secretary. She kept looking for jobs, but nobody would hire a ‘barbarian’ barely out of the woods who took ages to read a full sentence and had no actual education or prior experience on the work field. During the weekend, she watched him paint while struggling to decipher her college books; he would always be patient with her and explain different words that she didn’t know, or helping her practice her reading while his brush slid in soft strokes on white canvas; it was a rare case she could read at all. Solas mentally thanked her parents for not being shut-ins like most Dalish and teaching her the common alphabet, restoring just a bit of hope for her people.

Consequently, Arte’mys had started looking for a roommate; someone who _wasn’t_ a drop-dead gorgeous professor she lived off of selfishly, but, again, most didn’t even want to hear about her once they learned her heritage. There were many city elves, but all of them lived in the Alienage, a poor, secluded corner of the city, known for its petty crimes and the general hatred and disgust directed towards it by the shemlens; there was rumour of another Dalish girl moving into town, but so far, she hadn’t managed to learn her name – she would meet with Varric for lunch to find out more more details.

“Shit— _lunch!_ ”

She sprung up from the couch, throwing her dishevelled locks of white hair back. Solas turned from his painting, mildly distraught; he had almost dashed the brush right across an entire morning’s work. “We still have time until then” the professor informed, glancing at his expensive wristwatch.

“No, no – I – Varric, we arranged to – Dread Wolf’s damned asshole!”

“ _Da’len!_ ” “—abelas!”

She paused, her face burning bright; it was always embarrassing when she caught herself cursing in front of him, which he only seemed to tolerate when _he_ did it – he _totally_ reminded her of her father sometimes. He shot her a scolding glare over the frame of his glasses, and she felt her chest tighten. For a second, she could only stare at his attractive facial features, and he seemed to notice, eyes narrowing on her figure; he couldn’t stand when she wore those short pants and cropped top, exposing her navel, her toned legs, her hipbones –

“I can tell you’re staring, hahren” she darted at him, biting the inside of her lips as they curled into a taunting smirk; she had become more daring over the time they had lived together, sometimes intuitionally swaying her hips, leaning forward in front of him, throwing sultry looks in his direction – just as his fingers sometimes lingered on her shoulders, his eyes trailing after her when he walked behind her.

He swallowed hard.

“Nonsense. I think it is _you_ who always looks her professor up and down.”

The girl stepped forward, looking up at him; a wordless challenge. He stood straight, his broad chest puffed out; and she imitated him, bringing her arms behind her back like his, tilting her head as she smiled up at the man, mimicking his serious gaze, their eyes locking on another. Indulging her, he lowered his face, warm breath ticking her skin. Arte’mys could hardly keep her pulse steady; having him so close to her was surreal. They almost touched, and she couldn’t help herself as she caved in, chests barely brushing together. Solas felt every muscle in his body tensing, lips pursed into a thin line as he struggled to maintain control. He could grab her, turn her around, glue her to the wide windows; take in the scent of fresh flowers and cinnamon, mouth ghosting over her perfectly pale skin – finally give her what she so gallantly asks for, with the long gazing, with the flirty giggles, the way she moves around him; she knew damn well she was tempting the old wolf; he would tease her only to get a reaction, but she had started to tease him back, something he had not predicted. Now he was doomed, trapped in a loop of indefinitely tempting each-other simply for the fact of how inappropriate it was, giving their age gap, their cultural differences, the horrific social setting. He craved their little unseemly provocations as much as he craved caring for her, ensuring her safety; teaching her, making her feel welcome. He loved the way she made him coffee every morning, leaning against the counter, giving him cheeky grins through the wavy hair that fell over her face as she spun the teaspoon with aggravating clinks against his mug, knowing it ticked him off every time.

Solas wanted to give in to her luring. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was dangerous, but it was driving him insane. She was playing with him, as he was with her, and he could swear she was actually serious. What could they do? A real relationship would be outrageous, and anything less would be too scandalous to allow them to live together any longer.

He heard her say his name quietly – not ‘hahren’, not ‘professor’—his _name_ , and his worries faded. A heavy, gray storm met the vibrant summer sky as his orbs stared into hers, his body unmoving. Drifting, the hunter lifted herself on the tip of her toes, eyelids slowly sliding to a close—

 _Rrrrring_. _Rrrring. Rrrrring._

Her eyes widened as if just understanding what they were doing, and Arte’mys immediately backed away, as Solas idly brought his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat, both of them desperately avoiding eye contact, contrary to just a few seconds ago.

“I’ll—“ “Yes, of course—“ “Be right back—!“

The girl stumbled towards her room, where she had forgotten her phone whose current ringing had saved them from almost making the worst decision of their lives. Technically, it was the guest room, which Solas had rearranged to actually have the possibility of harbouring guests; it was previously more of a storage room than anything, but after the first couple of nights together, Arte’mys refused to occupy his bed any longer, so they had both cleaned out the other room for her to stay in.

A slender hand reached to clutch onto the low hem of his light shirt; Solas exhaled audibly, reaching out to support himself against the window, staring through the glass out into the unresting streets of Skyhold; and even if he had certainly felt like the world had stopped for a few moments, he realized he was a fool, and swore to himself to never do something so stupid again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bah, I'm even more behind now because I was terribly sick for a couple of days; so I'm splitting today's writing in half. Some new faces will make their debut, since I've finally gotten into DA2. I love Varric so much and he's probably going to end up with Hawke because they're my otp ( I'm barely finishing Act I, though, so I don't know much about the DA2 story). Also, expect CullenxAmell at some point, because they're my life.


	8. Prompt#8: Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arte'mys meets Hawke, Varric's best friend, and learns of a Dalish girl named Daisy who is looking for a roommate to share an apartment in the Alienage; even if the idea makes her nauseous, the huntress refuses to live off of Solas's kidness any longer, and potentially finds a way to earn her keep with Leliana, the former Orlesian spy.

Arte’mys paced hurriedly down the sidewalk in her ankle boots, steps still as silent and light as always; she turned around a corner, unzipping the short leather jacket – a warm cream colour, to go with her shoes; it was a sunny day, compared to the brittle cold that had been settling in since the beginning of the month. She took advantage of the warm weather, wearing a tight beige skirt and a rosy lace-up tank top. It was unusual of her to wear such bright colours; her outfit was usually murky and dark, making it easier to fit in with the surroundings, but, urged by her new lady-friends, Josephine and Leliana, she put in a bit more effort, still keeping her signature make-up.

The girl reached a big clearing, wide streets surrounding the imposing plaza. She was taken aback by the beauty that could be found in the shemlen cities of stone and concrete, although she was glad to be so pleasantly surprised in her new home, rather than appalled; but there was no time for lollygagging, as she was at least fifteen minutes late by now.

Spotting her destination, she hurried, the crystals on her leaf-shaped ring glistening in the sun.

“There she is!” Varric welcomed the young elf as she joined him into the lounge, invited to take a seat opposite of him. “It’s been a while. You holdin’ up alright?” She appreciated the concern, bowing her head lightly. “Yes, Sir Tethras, I’m—“ “ _Bah,_ please! Next thing I know, you’ll be calling me ‘your highness’.” He waved a hand before steadying it on the table. “ **Varric**. Not sir, not Tethras, and _blazes forbid_ , _not_ my lord.”

“What a terrible liar; you never complain when _I_ call you ‘my lord’” a chaste voice rang through Arte’mys’s ears, and, searching for the source of the tease, her eyes fell upon a beautiful woman with curled blonde hair that framed her face perfectly, two beads of Lyrium gluing to the unfamiliar elf. Varric snorted at the jab, the lightest shade of pink dusting over his rugged expression, standing up as he turned his attention towards the newcomer; the huntress had never seen him look at anyone like that before.

“Snow, meet Hawke; the Champion of Kirkwall.” Arte’mys had taken notice of him giving everyone nicknames; apparently, hers was ‘snow’, because of her albino complexion. The dwarf gestured towards the woman, and she gave a breathy laugh, resting a hand on her hip, intervening. “Though I don’t use that title much anymore.”

Arte’mys had heard, very briefly, about the history of the ‘outside world’ before she moved away from her clan; whispers of the Hero of Ferelden and the Champion of Kirkwall; of the Circle and the Templars, the Grey Wardens… so many orders and organizations, hard to keep track of – as usual, humans loved overcomplicating themselves; nonetheless, the girl could tell it was an honour to be in Hawke’s presence, hearing of her heroic deeds even as she grew up in such seclusion.

The three of them settled down at the table, and it was hard to ignore the giggles and jokes between the two old friends, not to mention the raw involvement in each-other; it was heart-warming, and it made her unconsciously think of Solas, the image of him painting as he hummed ever so lightly flashing in her mind; a soft smile would dance across his lips as he taught her about long-lost history.

“I didn’t know Varric had a best friend” the elf admitted, glancing bashfully at Hawke. “Varric has  _friends_? That’s news to me” Christianne jestered, making the student bring a hand to her mouth to cover up her giggles. “Hey – I can’t be charming and presentable when you go off and say stuff like that.” It was a complaint, but obviously friendly. The blonde gave him a wink, which made him shake his head, undoubtedly used to her antics. “Don’t worry, you’re surprisingly charming for a man your age.” She even stuck her tongue out, Tethras resting his head in his hand with a contained smile.

“I’m gonna let that one slide, Hawke.” “Oooh, I _love_ sliding.” “Don’t even start!”

It was surprisingly fun to hang out with a bestselling author and an advocate for mageborn rights; Hawke was a lawyer, and an incredibly witty and humorous one, at that. From what Arte’mys had gathered, Christianne battled thousands in the court, appealing for humanity and speaking out against the mageborn oppression; according to legend, in ancient times, some people were born _actual mages_ , with powers beyond imagination, but it left them vulnerable to possession. These fairytales propagated into the new age, and, even if there was no actual evidence of magic, both the Circles and Order of Templars remained symbolically, and those believed to still carry the blood of mages were closely observed and usually discriminated. Terrifying rumours travelled that members of all races except dwarven could actually cast spells, and that some were forced to live in seclusion, studying the arcane arts; in truth, those were only the practices of old, long abolished since the presumed extinction of magic. Even if Hawke had made plenty of enemies, Arte’mys knew she was an astonishing woman with incredible kindness and compassion, simply proven by how loyal and caring her companion was.

Halfway through their lunch, Varric addressed the real reason he had invited her in the first place; to discuss a potential new roommate. He told her about a Dalish girl who had left her clan for confidential reasons (apparently, she wasn’t wanted there by her peers), and was looking for a place to stay. “There’s a decent spot in the Alienage” he said, and Arte’mys felt her heart drop straight into the acid in her stomach. “Daisy said she could afford it if someone else were to split the bill with her; I didn’t want to ask just anyone. She can handle herself, don’t worry” he held a finger up, expecting Arte’mys’s trail of thought, “but she can be pretty oblivious and stutters on a daily basis.”

‘Great, play bodyguard for a Dalish crybaby who actually ran away from home, straight into the cursed Alienage!’ Anger seemed to take over her, despite Varric’s efforts to make the offer sound any better.

“Varric – give the girl a chance to speak” Hawke perturbed, and the dwarf realized he had been so caught up in making a good case that he didn’t realize the terrified look in the young girl’s eyes. “There’s… no other place? Nowhere but the Alienage?” Arte’mys swallowed painfully through the sudden dryness of her throat. The old wound in her palm ached, still not completely healed, hand trembling as she set down her cutlery. “Ahhh, don’t give me those puppy eyes, Snow!” Varric sighed, shoulders limping with a heave. “There’s nothing I can do right now; I’ll try to use my connections with the sharks from real estate and find you a better spot, outside that dreadful dump. But, for the time being…”

Stray strands of ivory hair shook, and Arte’mys straightened her posture, regaining common sense. “Ir abelas; it was disgraceful of me. The elvhen do not expect anything from anyone. We make do with what we have and call it home.” Hawke was visibly impressed; her previous encounters with the Dalish hadn’t been gracious at all. “I promise, we’ll do everything we can to improve your stay here” the lawyer reassured, and Arte’mys felt herself smile. “Ma serannas, Hawke. You have already done more than enough, and it is time I do something in return. I will not let your kindness go to waste.”

After finishing their meal, sharing a few more laughs and getting Daisy’s number from Varric, Arte’mys stopped on her way home at the local bakery, buying a few frilly cakes that she had overheard Solas had a huge sweet tooth for. She slid her smartphone out of her pocket as she turned to walk home, holding it up to her ear with the aid of her shoulder, hands pushing open the bakery’s door as she stepped outside into the beginning of an evening breeze.

“Leliana Nightingale; not available. Leave a message if it poses any concern.”

“Miss Nightingale? I heard you teach self-defense classes at a popular gym downtown?”

A click. The redhead picked up her phone.

“You heard correctly, Miss Lavellan.”

“Any chance you could use a second pair of skilled arms?”

“I’m starting to consider it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wrote Varric and Hawke alright! Their friendship gives me so many feels. I'm trying to convert traditional Thedas into a modern setting, and I realize my attempt is quite horrendous, but I like to believe that it's readable. If you have any cooler ideas, leave them in the comments! I'd love to get some feedback on what you guys think so far! I'm looking into things Arte'mys could do to earn some money, and I figured Leliana was the best to appeal to; who knows, maybe we get to see a pretty Crow. ;)


End file.
